Don't Make Me HeadButt You
by johnnydicaprio
Summary: Liy Evans has lost her wand. She is defenseless, less intimidating, less commanding, not to mention she has class in half an hour. She barges into a certain someone's room, convinced that he has taken it. Confrontations lead to unexpected things. JPxLE


Back with another one-shot! I know I haven't updated _Chocolate_ for a while but this idea was swimming around in my head when I wrote the first chapter of that story, so I guess you could call this a spin-off. Have fun, and don't forget to review!

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She was screwed. Big time. There'd be no running from mum this time. There would be much screaming, object shattering, and general anger. She was sure of it.

She sighed, straightening up and throwing her Charms book over her shoulder, before leaning back down and frantically searching under her bed. She shoved aside her trunk, muggle suitcase, an extra cage for her owl, and a couple of her old sixth year textbooks. The sheer amount of junk that had collected under her bed was unbelievable.

Unfortunately, the bloody thing wasn't there. Struggling to her feet and glaring at her room as if she could scare it into materializing out of thin air, she realized how quickly she could make a mess out of something she spent two hours cleaning up.

"Crap," she drawled to herself, sinking into her bed and sighing. She was defenseless without her wand, was less commanding, intimidating, and felt, for the first time since she was eleven, much like a Muggle. She knew that identical wands didn't exist, and if she didn't find it soon, she would have to replace it with another one of Ollivander's. The idea of a new wand scared her more than she'd like to admit.

"Crap, crap, crap!" she yelled louder, turning around and punching her stuffed bear - with the force of her strike, the bear went flying into her wardrobe door, crumpling sadly into the woolly carpet below. She then felt guilty for punching Poof's face in, as the poor thing had nothing to do with the disappearance of her wand, naturally. Reaching over and picking it up, she cuddled it in her arms, and leaned back into her pillow.

As she closed her eyes, the image of her willow wand came to the forefront of her mind, tormenting her – just beyond her reach. The image propelled her out of her bed, and with a dwindling sense of purpose, she kicked around a couple of articles of clothing, begging beyond belief that the stick of wood would be somewhere among the jeans and the t-shirts scattered around the room. Her resolve left her, and groaning loudly, she ran to her door and wrenched it open, flinging herself into the common room of the Head Tower, immediately greeted by the incessant chirping of the birds in the grounds, their shrill voices flitting through the open windows. She did not hex them, and it took a lot of self-control.

Making a split-second decision, she stomped her way to The Prat's room, pounded the door with her fist, and without waiting for an answer, walked in, prepared to rail at him, somehow assured that he had taken her wand. Because her bad luck, somehow, always, had something to do with The Prat. Of course it was his fault.

Of course it was, of course.

She stumbled over the threshold, breathing fire from her nose. Blinking rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the blinding light coming from the windows, her gaze drifted down to Potter in the middle of the room, half-naked, struggling to shove both his legs into one trouser leg. His head snapped up suddenly, looking surprised at the intrusion, but his lips curled into a grin as he stared at her flustered face.

"Alright there, Evans?"

This situation might have been remotely funny had it not been happening to her.

She was not alright. _Definitely _not alright. In fact, she was as far away from 'alright' as you could possibly get. Her head swam, her eyes stung, the tips of her fingers turned cold, and she was sure she flooded a little green. Through clouded eyes, she watched his grin getting larger, eyes turn amused, dimples forming on his cheeks. She had to grab the side of his wardrobe for balance.

"Evans?" he pulled his trousers up, buttoned them, and dropped his robes onto his bed. "You look a little green."

_I don't look green. I am not green. Lily, you are not green. You aren't. You would be green if you weren't a normal, average, sixteen year old girl, and that's exactly what you are, so you can't be green. My logic is foolproof. Yes. Indeed. _

Then again, no logic is fool-proof for a fool that is sufficiently foolish.

"EVANS!"

"Huh – what?" she looked around stupidly, and then straightened up, regaining her snappish attitude, but staring determinedly at his nose. "What, Potter?"

"I _said_, can I help you with something?" he repeated, stepping closer with an impish grin, as he unconsciously rubbed at his nose, expecting something to be dangling off of it as she was refusing to look away from it.

_Do not look at his eyes. Just don't do it. Just...stare at his nose. His beautiful...proportionate... – _

"Yes! Give it **back**!" she ordered, ignoring his cheesy smile, stepping forward and challenging him although he was considerably taller.

"Sorry?"

"I know you have it, Potter! This is another one of your stupid pranks, and frankly, I'm not amused!"

"Lily, what the hell are you on about?"

"My wand!" she shrieked uncontrollably, extending her index finger to poke his bare chest, punctuating every word with a blow. "I know you have it, and I want it _back_!"

"What wand?"

His clueless expression only angered her further. "A WAND, POTTER!" She shrieked, bordering on hysterical, and he jumped back in surprise at her exclamation. "_MY_ WAND! You know that little stick that I waved at you once and you turned into a goat? Remember how you had to walk around like that for a whole day before your friends realized you were gone? THAT wand!"

"I remember having cravings to eat grass for a whole week," he said bitterly, looking up as if remembering a distant memory. His silence was not greeted with understanding.

"POTTER!" She cried, causing him to jump in fright again. "I swear, if you don't give me back my wand, right _now_, so help me god, I WILL _DESTROY_ YOU!"

"Without your wand?" he muttered, grinning, unable to help himself. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted ever speaking them. In fact, he regretted ever being born. Lily pounced forward like a furious lioness, ignored his surprised face at her outburst, and began hitting every part of his body she could reach.

"Ow!" he yelped back, his face distorted with pain. "Lily stop hitting me, I swear, I don't have it!"

"Liar," she hissed, narrowing her eyes. "This is just another one of your _twisted_ ways to mess with me, and I know it! Like when you stuffed snow down my shirt, and charmed my quills to spell everything wrong and my books to chase me down the corridor, and when you switched my cauldron with Black, and when you forced me to kiss you because that damn mistletoe wouldn't let me go and it's – I've – I've just had enough of you, Potter!" He smiled pleasantly as she recounted all of his achievements, and at his amused face, a strangled scream tore out of her chest as she lunged forward. "STOP LAUGHING! I've had it up to here with you and your bloody friends, and your sodding pranks, and I JUST WANT MY WAND BACK!"

It seemed that Lily had finally cracked.

Finally.

He stumbled back, his legs hitting the side of his bed, shielding his head as she towered over him and continued the abuse. "Ouch – ow – gerrof! Lily – what the hell–? OW! STOP IT!"

Though he dodged several of the hits with quick reflexes, she continued, persistent. "Give – it – back – to – me – you – complete – arse!"

"I swear – if you – weren't a girl – I would – pummel – "

"HA!" she cried, letting out a loud laugh, pausing momentarily. "Since when do you have a sense of conscience, Potter?"

As he opened his mouth wide and let down his defenses to retort that he was in fact, very sensitive and very human, she whacked his head, messing up his hair.

Most people knew that was taking it too far.

That it was a wrong move to touch a Marauder's hair. Most normal people would have let it go. Or would have solved the issue without involving his hair. Hair, to a Marauder, was their most valued treasure. Hair, was holy. Deity-like, in fact.

Then again, Lily Evans was not 'most people'. And she certainly was not normal. And she certainly did not give a flying toss.

"My hair!" James growled in immediate response, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he saw her satisfied smirk, his eyes flooding with maniacal anger. "OH, THAT'S IT, NO ONE TOUCHES MY HAIR!" She attempted to continue throttling him, but with surprising strength, he grabbed a hold of her wrists, twirled her around, and pushed her down to the bed, rolling on top of her to stop her from fidgeting.

She thrashed around. She was unsuccessful. She flailed her limbs. They remained tightly stuck beneath the seventeen-year-old boy currently perched atop her body.

She stopped for a couple of seconds, surprised by the change of events, and he let go of her. The moment passed, and when he released her wrists, she began slapping him again, shifting her body beneath him, trying to wriggle her legs free from under his to kick him in the face. He groaned in pain as her head came in contact with his nose, knocking off his glasses, and her struggling knee hit his crotch. He snapped his legs shut against the pain, effectively forcing her legs apart with his, stilling them, and grabbed her hands again, spreading them apart on the bed, both breathing heavily.

"Stop fucking hitting me," he whispered down at her angrily, his vision blurry, their faces inches apart as he struggled to keep her hands still at her sides. It must be noted that had they taken more than five seconds to realize how they were positioned, the conversation might have gone off on a tangent.

"So give me fucking wand my wand," she snarled, tilting her head to the side and trying to sneak her wrists free from his grasp.

"I told you, I don't have your sodding wand!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!" She let out another strangled shriek. "ARGH! I am _so_ going to hex you into oblivion!" Though she threatened him to no end, her arms flopped around uselessly in the iron grip he had on her.

"Well," he said stiffly, repositioning himself so that one of his knees was between her legs. "If I had your wand, I definitely _would_ give it back now that you've threatened to curse me with it. You're really in no position to make threats, Evans."

"Don't make me head-butt you," she spat suddenly, murderous, through gritted teeth. A sense of giddy pleasure and satisfaction flooded her as saw his eyes widen with restrained worry. She tried again, to push him off in order to continue torturing him, but his other knee was on her thigh, and it was uncomfortable and awkwardly close proximity not to mention painful when she moved. She wanted out of this compromising situation as she needed to find her wand before lessons started.

He also smelt good, which admittedly posed a bigger problem than her lost wand.

"Get the hell off me, Potter!"

"Nope."

"I _said_ let me go!"

"No way."

Her brow furrowed, and she glared at him, attempting to break his resolve, to threaten her way out of the situation. His face didn't soften. She _really _was in no position to negotiate. In fact, the time for peaceful negotiations were over.

"Fine," she snapped flippantly. She lifted herself up on her elbows, struggling against him still, and brought her mouth to one of his hands.

She then bit down. Hard.

The response was almost instantaneous. A fountain of profanities exploded out of his mouth as he let go of her immediately, his speech interspersed with agonized groans of pain and growls of anger.

"Whoops," she muttered impishly, grinning a little in spite of herself. "Sorry?"

"You're insane, you know that?" He hissed incredulously, rubbing the spot where her teeth had sunk into his flesh.

She snorted. "I've been told, but no one's really done anything about it."

"Pity," he snapped, still rubbing the tender skin on his hand. Upon her unchanged, almost nonchalant expression, "I should have gagged you too," he added angrily. "You're dangerous, _and_ crazy."

"Well," she retorted, hoisting herself up on her elbows, trying to stare him down. "You really shouldn't have held me down."

He furrowed his brow, looking frustrated. "And I suppose I should have just _let_ you kill me?"

She barely restrained herself from muttering a definite yes. "Potter," she said instead, sighing with an air of pompous patience. "Just give me back my wand, and I'll be on my merry way."

"Look," he said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and rubbing his eyes in annoyance. "I don't –"

"Cut the crap, Potter," she muttered, just as irritated. "Just give it, I promise I won't do anything – "

"But I don't – "

"Potter, it's okay, just hand it o – "

"Lily, I don't have it!"

"I know you do, just give it back, I promise I'll stop hitting y – "

Losing all control and self-restraint, he grabbed her hands once more, and threw them to her sides, sticking his face as close as he could to hers in order to get his message across.

"I DON'T HAVE YOUR SODDING WAND!"

There was a moment of silence, his yell hanging in the air as they froze, staring at each other. A handful of his hair dropped and tickled her nose as he stood over her, chest heaving, eyes glazed over with the remaining traces of his fury.

"Bloody hell Lily," he croaked finally, breaking the silence at last, "Don't you think if it was a prank I would have confessed _before_ you began beating the living crap out of me?"

Reason crept into her mind. She hadn't thought of that. Recalling all the times The Marauders had pranked her, she realized that if he _had _taken her wand_,_ he definitely wouldn't be denying it. And if he had at first, he would have given in long ago into his fragile man ego and admitted it proudly.

After all, had he not declared, many times, that it was he, who had stuffed snow down her shirt, charmed her quill, switched her cauldron, attacked her with mistletoe…

"I don't know," she muttered finally, her voice garbled, muffled, almost silent with embarrassment.

Seeing her sheepish expression, he sighed dejectedly, composing himself. "Alright," he whispered. "Now, I'm going to let go of your hands, if you promise you won't attack me," he said, eyeing her cautiously, looking as though he was about to let her go despite his better judgment. "Deal?" She nodded, still very much sheep-like.

His eyes narrowed. "I swear, _if_ you do attack me, girl or no, I _will_ stick Sirius on you in his animagus form," he paused, smiling wickedly, "and he _drools._"

She nodded vehemently once more, and he let go, immediately bringing his hands up to shield his face. She began laughing, in spite of herself, and he peeked through his fingers, making sure that she wasn't preparing to battle him again.

"I'm not going to hit you," she said between bursts of laughter, as he irritably shook his hair and tried to reach for his glasses that had gone tumbling onto the floor with their struggle.

"I didn't know what to expect," he said tersely, looking down at her as he pushed his glasses back onto his face. "You are quite the homicidal maniac."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You know," he suddenly intervened, chuckling lightly as he looked down, "If anyone were to come in at this moment, we would never live it down."

She was forced to look at what he was talking about, soon realizing that he was still, most inappropriately on top of her, not looking as though he would get off any time soon. Deciding that the feeling wasn't entirely horrible she brought her hands together and rubbed her wrists, glad that he wasn't holding her down anymore.

He raised an eyebrow at the gesture. "Your hands weren't cuffed, you know. And I didn't hold on that tight."

"You cut off my circulation," she said promptly, glancing at his hands. "You didn't have to restrain – "

" – like hell I didn't," he cut in with a small smile, pointing to the newly-formed scratch marks on his chest and hands. She blushed, noticing that he was still without a shirt on. It was rather uncomfortable having him settled between her legs. He smiled, following her eyes as he stared at him in his bare glory.

His smile grew wider as her brain went into overdrive, struggling for a new point of discussion, of argument, of something, of something other than him naked on top of her. "Did you know that look better without glasses?" she suddenly muttered, desperately.

His eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead, his expression slightly taken aback, but pleased nonetheless. "I can't see shit without them, though," he said awkwardly smiling, pushing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. She smiled, reached forward, and gently took his glasses off again.

"Really," she confirmed with a confident nod, smiling at him, though he really could only see the whiteness of her teeth through his blurred sight, "Much better. I think you should consider being blind for a while."

"Should I?"

"I would say so. So you're sure that you can't see me now?"

"Yeah," he muttered, blinking down at her face, his eyes unfocused, unseeing. "I mean, I can see who you are, but your face is really blurry."

"So, you really can't see me?" she asked again, staring up into his hazel eyes. He shook his head. Unsure of what she was doing, or even _why _she was doing what she was doing, she allowed her hands to begin feeling his face, dragging her fingertips slowly across his eyelids, his cheekbones, down the side of his jaw, excitement building in her chest as his breath caught in his throat at her uncharacteristically gentle treatment. The feeling of being invisible was empowering.

Her fingertips continued moving across the tender skin of his neck, and she felt the shiver go through him and into her as her hand moved up to trace across his lips. She felt the soft skin contract under her thumb as he stood over her, immobilized, barely breathing. It was surprisingly easy just then, for her to raise herself on her elbows, and following the path of her fingers, brush her own lips against his softly, pulling his bottom lip down with the slightest nudge of her own. She broke from the would-be kiss, and rested her forehead against his.

He let out a slow breath of surprise, and she moved rhythmically just as he did with the action. "If this is how you're going to greet me every morning," he breathed out in disbelief, smiling as he spoke. She saw him lick his lips delicately, and she was soon encapsulated in another kiss, just as soft as hers, and it was before long that his tongue was on her lip, begging for further entry. She felt his hand travel up her shoulder and to the back of her neck, drawing her deeper into himself. The quest for her wand completely forgotten, she allowed him to roll her over, as her own hands found their way into his unruly hair, and besides a small smile of recognition, he showed no sign of being bothered this time. Her hands wandered across the bare skin of his back, of the torso she'd been admiring minutes ago, making small marks, her marks, on his skin.

When he drew back from devouring her neck with small kisses, she was aware he had his glasses on again, and winced, her invisibility cloak stripped from her, she suddenly felt exposed. He smiled at her gently, and planted a kiss onto the corner of her lips. "I wanted to make sure that you weren't just a part of my over-active imagination," he muttered against the skin of her jaw. Her small groan informed him that she was in no place to care about invisibility anymore. Barriers were broken, anyway, and there was no use to cry over spilt milk.

After a couple of minutes passed, he pulled back suddenly, his hair ruffled, his lips pink and flustered, his bright face suddenly folding into a large, sly smile. She felt anxiety explode in her stomach, and "What?" she asked apprehensively, tensing as an automatic response to his overly eager expression. He shook his head, and simply brought a hand to her back jeans pocket and withdrew something. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows threatening to disappear into her hairline.

"That's…" she gulped, unbelieving and staring at his hand. "That's my wand."

"Mmm-hmm," he agreed brazenly, waving the wand around, so that the curtains of his four-poster shut around them.

She gulped again, staring at the wand in his hand, unbelieving that it was in her pocket the whole time. And no, no. Poof definitely had nothing to do with it.

"You shouldn't keep your wand there, you know," he said slowly, lifting it up and tracing her jaw line with it. "Better witches than you have lost buttocks."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You put it there, didn't you?" she asked, playfully accusing him as she made to grab her wand.

"How can you suggest something like that?" he asked, outraged, but still grinning. "It was there the whole time, not my bleeding fault you didn't notice!"

She gaped. "You _saw_ it?"

"Well…"

"You didn't tell me?"

"Well," he said again, shrugging and smiling widely. "You didn't give me a chance, did you? You know, between all the hitting and kissing." His smile grew wider, lightly suggestive, but mostly playful.

She smiled and raised an eyebrow, grabbing her wand away from him. "I still haven't ruled out cursing you, for your information," she remarked slowly, gauging his reaction to her words.

"Into _oblivion_?" he inquired, uncaring, smiling. "Go ahead," he piped pleasantly, putting his arms behind his hand and leaning back. "I can die happy now."

She blushed and planted a kiss on his check, lying on the crook of his arm. "So you know someone who's lost a buttock, then?"

"Not particularly," he said absently, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I'd just like for _you_ to keep your buttocks safely attached to your body." He grinned wider. "You know, keep them safe for the future."

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Well, how did you like it? Good? Cute? Horrible? Mediocre? You know the drill. Click the little blue box and leave a review. It makes me happy. And all of you will get special cookies. Check under your pillow. It will be there.

JohnnyDicaprio

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